A great big thanks to our first guests of this edition of Shark Nibbles, Scissor Sisters.
On an entirely unrelated topic, I wonder if I could say that I enjoy dancing as much as The Next Bloke. So, I say, I'll just ask him. How about it?
Sounds about right, ol' bean!
Always a pleasure to have you with us here, The.
Same.
What are you been up to, these days?
Same old, same old. Triviality and banality keep me busy alright.
I see. So, pray tell, The, how do you like a spitrity ride?
Why, I like it well enough. It's not something I'd go any great lengths for, but I'll enjoy one every now and again.
Very well. How about dancing?
Well, you see, Shark, the thing is, these days, dancing has become, I'm dare say, more of a staple of the elites and less of the common man's indulgence. As so, I, as a representative of the widest stratus of what would only claim to be an unstrsatified society, haven't done much dancing, really. Unless you call that spastic flailing and endless, mindless head bobbing you'd find at any regular loud, smoke-filled, barely lit watering hole at rather unhealthy hours dancing, that is.
But do you like it?
I'm afraid I don't, really.
Thank you very much for your insight, The.
Thanks for having me, mate.
And that concludes our second guest's participation for this edition. Mr. Bloke leaves us today with the knowledge that he does not, in fact, enjoy dancing. I, however, beg to differ. Having found a group that, twice a month, gathers for traditional and folk dancing, I must say I rather like it. It's fun, it's a reat way to meet people, and it seems like a fair workout, as in less than two hours I managed to sweat the most I had ever sweated since my trip to Karnak (except for any trip to the gym, that is).
As a bit of trivia, this was also the first situation that I remember ever being in which the gender ratio was unbalanced that way. Draw your conclusions.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to invite all of his readers to join him on his next dancing trip. Contact for more info.
My current location
I've been known to mention some cars on this blog, notably Aston Martins and Jaguars. You should know I'm not a motor enthusiast, not really. In high school, when most of my classmates could name make, model, horsepower, driver's age ans god knows how many more stats for every car on the block, I could only listen idly and have no idea what the hell it all meant. Even in my senior year, when my mother figured she'd get a Honda Civic Type R (I hear it was a good little ride. It had 200 horse power. I never figured out where the horses went), when, suddenly, I got a bit of a boost in popularity with "the motor clique", I couldn't be bothered to learn about cars. Nowadays, I finally figured where the horses go (in the paddock, of course), but most of the technical data and all still sounds like a lot of gibberish to me. And yet...
There's this TV show I like. It's called Tog Gear. Now, I enjoy a spirity ride as much as The Next Bloke (who is schedulled for a guest appearence soon, stay tuned for that), but that is just not enough to watch Top Gear for the cars. I do enjoy the humour they manage to infuse in every challenge and review. And, I'll admit it, I do rather like some of the cars.
So sometime ago, I believe I was watching something Top Gear related (probably on YouTube), when the host commented that whatever car he was testing (I believe it might have been a Lamborghini. I won't swear by it, though...) was "faster than a Zonda". I had no idea what a Zonda was, and was slightly curious about it. Later, in an entirely unrelated context, I came across the likeness of a Zonda F, and thought it looked pretty neat. I must have made a note to look into it more, but really couldn't be bothered to look it up (even if Wikipedia is so convenient. That should tell you how excited I was about it).
So today I was browsing about Top Gear's website video section, looking for Jamie Oliver's part in their segment "Star in a Reasonably Priced Car" (now cooking, that I like), when I came across some videos pertaining to the Zonda F. Eagerly (though not too much, really), I went to watch them. Immediately (well, after a brief loading time, at any rate), I was met with the message "THE VIDEO YOU ARE TRYING TO WATCH CANNOT BE VIEWED FROM YOUR CURRENT COUNTRY OR LOCATION".
Well, first off, you don't have to shout, I can hear you just fine, even all the way here in my current country or location. Second, while I understand that some restrictions are in place to prevent some content from being accessed by some countries, those measures are usually imposed by governments to enforce their local laws. Thrid, come on, it's just sports cars, it's not like I'm trying to unearth any state secrets. Fourth, that's just how bad we have it here, in my current country or location. We can't even watch a video review for a sports car we wouldn't be likely to affor in a few lifetimes. Thank you, my current country or location, for crushing even our fantasies, let alone our dreams, hope or aspirations.
And you wonder whay I'm so intent on leaving this sinkhole. Even Teh Internets won't come near us.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like, at this point, to remind you all who can read this that you are in a priviledged current country or location, for you can access my blog. Don't you think this is a decent trade-off for all the stuff you're missing out? No? Me neither...
There's this TV show I like. It's called Tog Gear. Now, I enjoy a spirity ride as much as The Next Bloke (who is schedulled for a guest appearence soon, stay tuned for that), but that is just not enough to watch Top Gear for the cars. I do enjoy the humour they manage to infuse in every challenge and review. And, I'll admit it, I do rather like some of the cars.
So sometime ago, I believe I was watching something Top Gear related (probably on YouTube), when the host commented that whatever car he was testing (I believe it might have been a Lamborghini. I won't swear by it, though...) was "faster than a Zonda". I had no idea what a Zonda was, and was slightly curious about it. Later, in an entirely unrelated context, I came across the likeness of a Zonda F, and thought it looked pretty neat. I must have made a note to look into it more, but really couldn't be bothered to look it up (even if Wikipedia is so convenient. That should tell you how excited I was about it).
So today I was browsing about Top Gear's website video section, looking for Jamie Oliver's part in their segment "Star in a Reasonably Priced Car" (now cooking, that I like), when I came across some videos pertaining to the Zonda F. Eagerly (though not too much, really), I went to watch them. Immediately (well, after a brief loading time, at any rate), I was met with the message "THE VIDEO YOU ARE TRYING TO WATCH CANNOT BE VIEWED FROM YOUR CURRENT COUNTRY OR LOCATION".
Well, first off, you don't have to shout, I can hear you just fine, even all the way here in my current country or location. Second, while I understand that some restrictions are in place to prevent some content from being accessed by some countries, those measures are usually imposed by governments to enforce their local laws. Thrid, come on, it's just sports cars, it's not like I'm trying to unearth any state secrets. Fourth, that's just how bad we have it here, in my current country or location. We can't even watch a video review for a sports car we wouldn't be likely to affor in a few lifetimes. Thank you, my current country or location, for crushing even our fantasies, let alone our dreams, hope or aspirations.
And you wonder whay I'm so intent on leaving this sinkhole. Even Teh Internets won't come near us.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like, at this point, to remind you all who can read this that you are in a priviledged current country or location, for you can access my blog. Don't you think this is a decent trade-off for all the stuff you're missing out? No? Me neither...
My poor dear...
Really, some people just can't get a break... In fact, the "people" bit isn't even a requirement.
So a few weeks ago, back when I was mildly worried that my cute little kitty was way past six months old and still had no signs of ever having been in heat, she displaied some unusual behaviour I was a bit startled by. She stood and walked always very close to the ground, but kept her hips rather high up in the air. Also, her hind paws were quite frantic in what could be described as a digging pattern. Lastly, she kept mewing, but not a loud "meyow" kind of mew, rather a subtle and guttural "murr" kind of mew. Unsurprisingly, this was her in heat. Good-o!
Then, after a week of looking agonyzingly uncomfortable at all times and acting a bit pissy (I feel like there's a suitable pun, but I'll leave that to my editor), she had a blissfully calm week... followed by another week in heat. But wait, it's even worse the second time around! By now, she could utter her strange "murr" mews loudly. The previous week I had been mulling it over in my head: to spay or not to spay? The second heat, plus a very odd-feeling lump in the scruff of her neck, very much made the decision for me: spay it is. So I had it done oevr the weekend and went to pick her up from the vet the next week. Naturally, she had had the fur on her belly shaven and wore a large adhesive over her stitches, but I could hardly be bothered by that. The big shaving on her neck, however, was something a bit different.
See, Kunoichi (that's the cat's name, if you hadn't figured), is a persian, and, as such, has a great thick fur coat. When they shaved it off (to extract the lump in her neck, of course), they made quite the dent in her, so much so that it really does look like there's a piece of cat missing. Now the skin underneath is pinkish, but the hair on top began growing back much faster than on her belly, and being quite dark, it made the sin look almost greyinsh. Combine that with the somewhat crude stitching (not shoddy or botched or anything, it healed perfectly, but it looked a little crude at the time) and she just looked like a zombie cat from a bad 80's horror movie. And then our troubles begun... well, hers, really.
For a week she wore the adhesive on her belly, and on a Friday we went to have it removed at the vet. The thing is, it must have been bothering her, and she tried to lick it off. Now, a cat's tongue is atually coarser than fine sandpaper, and, naturally, she licked herself to dire consequences: dermatitis. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it might be a little nastier. Still, it was good luck within bad luck, as she only got a large abrasion instead of an infection. Still, she was made to wear a lampshade collar so she doesn't lick her wounds any further and I have to wipe her sides (which, by the way, were further shaved) with a compress and some solution and rub a healing salve of sorts on her abrasions... twice a day. I don't mind, really, but Kuni-chan gets pretty impatient after one side, so she's not happy about the arrangement. Luckily for her, she's pretty much healed, and should be off that coller in a matter of days. Until then, she can't groom herself and her fur (what's left of it, really) is all oily and messy, making her look dirty and, I reckon, feel dirty. The poor thing has been depressed to no end. Furthermore, with so much of her lovely fur gone, I think she's cold all the time.
On the bright side, her sutures have healed perfectly, and the lump we had off was just some inflamatory reaction, possibly to a jab, so, no big deal.
And before you give me any lip for having her spaied, I'll have you know that I have, in fact, reduced the probability of her developing breast cancer by about 90%. Sure, she might gain weight now, but not only is that not such a bad thing, because she's so skinny, mind you, but also we can prevent that with adequate diet. Also, I don't think the opportunity for breeding would present much to her at any rate, seeing as I can afford to take care of her, but not her and a male companion. Also, if you think castration is inhumane, think back to the last time that you were a bit late for a German class and absolutely had to stop over at the ATM becasue the tecaher had been so good to order the manuals in bulk and would have the students pay that day in class, but the idiot blonde in front of you regarded ATMs as some form of sorcery or witchcraft to be handled with extreme care and precaution and couldn't bloody hurry up if the keypad was on fire and the sword of Damocles was hanging over her on a short timer. Then tell me you wouldn't have liked her mother to have been spaied...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is very, very displeased at the level of orgnisation and care displaied by some (definitely not all, but certainly some) of his teachers this semester. Also, I'd like to point out that a man who is employed by one University, yet runs a course at another, different University and is found out of the country for weeks at the time because he's on the payrole for yet another University at a whole different continent has three jobs - but doesn't work. Because, frankly, with three jobs, where would he find the time? At least he isn't given any students to fuck with overseas.
So a few weeks ago, back when I was mildly worried that my cute little kitty was way past six months old and still had no signs of ever having been in heat, she displaied some unusual behaviour I was a bit startled by. She stood and walked always very close to the ground, but kept her hips rather high up in the air. Also, her hind paws were quite frantic in what could be described as a digging pattern. Lastly, she kept mewing, but not a loud "meyow" kind of mew, rather a subtle and guttural "murr" kind of mew. Unsurprisingly, this was her in heat. Good-o!
Then, after a week of looking agonyzingly uncomfortable at all times and acting a bit pissy (I feel like there's a suitable pun, but I'll leave that to my editor), she had a blissfully calm week... followed by another week in heat. But wait, it's even worse the second time around! By now, she could utter her strange "murr" mews loudly. The previous week I had been mulling it over in my head: to spay or not to spay? The second heat, plus a very odd-feeling lump in the scruff of her neck, very much made the decision for me: spay it is. So I had it done oevr the weekend and went to pick her up from the vet the next week. Naturally, she had had the fur on her belly shaven and wore a large adhesive over her stitches, but I could hardly be bothered by that. The big shaving on her neck, however, was something a bit different.
See, Kunoichi (that's the cat's name, if you hadn't figured), is a persian, and, as such, has a great thick fur coat. When they shaved it off (to extract the lump in her neck, of course), they made quite the dent in her, so much so that it really does look like there's a piece of cat missing. Now the skin underneath is pinkish, but the hair on top began growing back much faster than on her belly, and being quite dark, it made the sin look almost greyinsh. Combine that with the somewhat crude stitching (not shoddy or botched or anything, it healed perfectly, but it looked a little crude at the time) and she just looked like a zombie cat from a bad 80's horror movie. And then our troubles begun... well, hers, really.
For a week she wore the adhesive on her belly, and on a Friday we went to have it removed at the vet. The thing is, it must have been bothering her, and she tried to lick it off. Now, a cat's tongue is atually coarser than fine sandpaper, and, naturally, she licked herself to dire consequences: dermatitis. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it might be a little nastier. Still, it was good luck within bad luck, as she only got a large abrasion instead of an infection. Still, she was made to wear a lampshade collar so she doesn't lick her wounds any further and I have to wipe her sides (which, by the way, were further shaved) with a compress and some solution and rub a healing salve of sorts on her abrasions... twice a day. I don't mind, really, but Kuni-chan gets pretty impatient after one side, so she's not happy about the arrangement. Luckily for her, she's pretty much healed, and should be off that coller in a matter of days. Until then, she can't groom herself and her fur (what's left of it, really) is all oily and messy, making her look dirty and, I reckon, feel dirty. The poor thing has been depressed to no end. Furthermore, with so much of her lovely fur gone, I think she's cold all the time.
On the bright side, her sutures have healed perfectly, and the lump we had off was just some inflamatory reaction, possibly to a jab, so, no big deal.
And before you give me any lip for having her spaied, I'll have you know that I have, in fact, reduced the probability of her developing breast cancer by about 90%. Sure, she might gain weight now, but not only is that not such a bad thing, because she's so skinny, mind you, but also we can prevent that with adequate diet. Also, I don't think the opportunity for breeding would present much to her at any rate, seeing as I can afford to take care of her, but not her and a male companion. Also, if you think castration is inhumane, think back to the last time that you were a bit late for a German class and absolutely had to stop over at the ATM becasue the tecaher had been so good to order the manuals in bulk and would have the students pay that day in class, but the idiot blonde in front of you regarded ATMs as some form of sorcery or witchcraft to be handled with extreme care and precaution and couldn't bloody hurry up if the keypad was on fire and the sword of Damocles was hanging over her on a short timer. Then tell me you wouldn't have liked her mother to have been spaied...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is very, very displeased at the level of orgnisation and care displaied by some (definitely not all, but certainly some) of his teachers this semester. Also, I'd like to point out that a man who is employed by one University, yet runs a course at another, different University and is found out of the country for weeks at the time because he's on the payrole for yet another University at a whole different continent has three jobs - but doesn't work. Because, frankly, with three jobs, where would he find the time? At least he isn't given any students to fuck with overseas.
Like fine wine...
... turned into vinegar
Well, yes, if couldn't have figured it out from the title and it's snide conterpart comment, we're (well, I'm) talking about ageing today. No point beating about the bush, it happens to everybody, so, might as well deal with it.
Well, yes, if you couldn't figure it out from the tone of the previous paragraph, this isn't going to be a list of "you know you're getting old when..." (starting with "1. You write two identical paragraphs consecutively, because you forget you wrote the first one as soon as you did").
So you might think I'm just going to spew a bunch of cliché platitudes regarding growing up, and then growing mature, and getting to the hill, and then worry that your time is running out until it becomes an obcession you overcome just in time to enjoy the "golden years" of elderdom. News flash, all that (what some of us would call "ageing") and it's older sister, Death, happen (/will happen) to each and every one of us, so, again, a bit useless to dwell on that. Better do something a bit new with the time I have left (I don't think it's so shot I should worry, but, then again, depending on the scale you measure it, it can't be very long).
Sorry, before I move on to my next paragraph, which was supposed to come in lieu of this paragraph, I'd just like to comment on the last parenthesis, specifically the phrase "I should worry". And thus I fall down the gaping maw of the very cliché I had sought to banish. Why would I worry? there really isn't/hasn't been/wouldn't be/insert another tense of your liking for the verb to be anything I (or anyone esle, for that matter) could do to prevent the rather definitive finale Mr. Grim Reaper has in stock for each of us. Postpone it perhaps, but worry about that someday, somehow, under some conditions I will die is flat out silly. I have enough concerns without that, as well as any of us. I'd just like to point out that I don't believe in Fate either. Because she's a lying bitch.
Let's instead ponder the social implications of growing old. The reduced muscle strength comes with a rather comfortable side of "what I say goes". Of course any literal interpretation of my little hyperbole would soon drive to the question "Then why is Obama president instead of his grandmother?" The obvious answer is "Because Americans don't want a woman president", as Mrs. Clinton would tell you, whilst the serious answer is "You're being silly". What I mean, lest you ask it, is that it seems sociably unaccpetable, or at least impolite, not to gobble up every last word coming out of a senior citizen (forget senior, anyone over the age of 50, it seems). Now, while a great many 50+ year olds should, indeed, have that kind of respect and admiration lavished upon them (I know a few myself) and could indeed be said to be at their prime (again, I know more than a couple of those), this sort of status should, by no means, be granted by age alone. I mean, a Private, or whatever the entry rank is in any given military force, won't become a Marshal, or, again, whatever the highest ranking is in any given military force (you must realise by now, military rankings don't concern me half as much as the correct way to pronounce "Lieutenent" does. I advocate that it should be "lef-TEN-unt", as they say in the UK, not "loo-TEN-unt", as they say where what Obama says goes) just by not leaving the military. An altar boy doesn't just become pope in time by polishing the saints on the shrine (or whatever it is that altar boys, bless their gullible hearts, do). Likewise, the way I see it, just because you managed to make it to 65 - or 75, for that matter - you shouldn't get an automatic "I know best badge".
Right about now I might look like a bit of elderly basher. Allow me to address that (lest I bash you as well): I have nothing against the elderly, and I have no shame in admitting that ever member of my family of the generation prior to my parents' who's still alive is an elder person to prove it. In their defense, someone with 50 years worth of living under their belt ought to have quite a bit of experience, and thus insight, younder fellows might lack (for the time being). I respect that, sure. However (there must always be a "however". It's in the books. And some old guy told me), even the oldest among us should understand that this world we live in and which many would have you believe to be about 6000 years old and made by some improbable and unprovable omnipotent entity is ever-changing. If I, in under 30 meagre years of existence can appreciate it, how can someone with three times as much not?
Sure, somethings would seem no to change, and what better example to illustrate this point than something straight out to TV? About seven years abou, give or take, I was watching an episode of "Freaks and Geeks" on (an old, CRT, bowled-screen) TV. It seemed alright, as it dealt cheifly with the everyday lives of several high-school students, spread across several cliques, I could identify with in some way or another. It seemed just like any other teen show, nut unlike "Popular" or "Clueless", for which I never really cared, but somehow better. I liked it, in spite of some eerie sense of "something is a bit off here". Was it the clothes? The decoration? The cultural references (i.e., "Dallas", "Ker Plunk", "Mousetrap")? It didn't become clear until a makeshift grave for a pet came on screen, setting the storyline-wise recent date of death in the 80's. There it was, I had been assuming the show was set in actuality, because the idle chatter and the common quarrels and boggles of the characters seem current enough, in spite of the odd setting. So, there, some things appear no to change (much), but at age 40, the latest, you should know that not all that glimmers is gold (plenty of pyrite to 'round).
My point seems to have become a bit lost, I'll get straight back on it. Fortunately (though you can't read it), I just took some 15 minutes out to reminesce about "Freaks and Geeks" (I really liked that show), and it's mellowed me out a bit. My point is that no amount of age ever gives you the right to claim to know better and merely dismiss other, younger people's opinions with as little as a condescending head shake and a "No..". And if you ever do, that should automatically invalidate your right to ask that person for an opinion, help or a favour you can't do yourself because you don't know how, as your overinflated experience can't help you there, let alone accuse said person of ill-intent upon failure to comply, despit one's best efforts (too specific? Go figure...). And no amount of age ever ever ever puts you beyond reproach on any matter whatsoever. Get that through your senior skull!
So, in short... I used to be good at the "in short" bit, but these days... In short, know your bloody place. And I don't suppose that only applies to the elderly, but it just seemed to me the elderly needed a refresher course on that. So there...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to remind you all that Epicurism isn't just some decrepit doctrine, but actually makes sense. And, if, for some reason, you're dying any faster than the rest of us or due any sooner than most, for the sake of all that you hold dear, don't just sit in a corner dying and bringing us all down over it, bloody get out there (metaphorically, of course, you might as well stay indoors, if you'd like) and bloody LIVE!!!
If you can read this, then you're reading past the end of the entry. You can stop now. Really, there's nothing more to read here. Oi, I mean it! Go away!!!
Well, yes, if couldn't have figured it out from the title and it's snide conterpart comment, we're (well, I'm) talking about ageing today. No point beating about the bush, it happens to everybody, so, might as well deal with it.
Well, yes, if you couldn't figure it out from the tone of the previous paragraph, this isn't going to be a list of "you know you're getting old when..." (starting with "1. You write two identical paragraphs consecutively, because you forget you wrote the first one as soon as you did").
So you might think I'm just going to spew a bunch of cliché platitudes regarding growing up, and then growing mature, and getting to the hill, and then worry that your time is running out until it becomes an obcession you overcome just in time to enjoy the "golden years" of elderdom. News flash, all that (what some of us would call "ageing") and it's older sister, Death, happen (/will happen) to each and every one of us, so, again, a bit useless to dwell on that. Better do something a bit new with the time I have left (I don't think it's so shot I should worry, but, then again, depending on the scale you measure it, it can't be very long).
Sorry, before I move on to my next paragraph, which was supposed to come in lieu of this paragraph, I'd just like to comment on the last parenthesis, specifically the phrase "I should worry". And thus I fall down the gaping maw of the very cliché I had sought to banish. Why would I worry? there really isn't/hasn't been/wouldn't be/insert another tense of your liking for the verb to be anything I (or anyone esle, for that matter) could do to prevent the rather definitive finale Mr. Grim Reaper has in stock for each of us. Postpone it perhaps, but worry about that someday, somehow, under some conditions I will die is flat out silly. I have enough concerns without that, as well as any of us. I'd just like to point out that I don't believe in Fate either. Because she's a lying bitch.
Let's instead ponder the social implications of growing old. The reduced muscle strength comes with a rather comfortable side of "what I say goes". Of course any literal interpretation of my little hyperbole would soon drive to the question "Then why is Obama president instead of his grandmother?" The obvious answer is "Because Americans don't want a woman president", as Mrs. Clinton would tell you, whilst the serious answer is "You're being silly". What I mean, lest you ask it, is that it seems sociably unaccpetable, or at least impolite, not to gobble up every last word coming out of a senior citizen (forget senior, anyone over the age of 50, it seems). Now, while a great many 50+ year olds should, indeed, have that kind of respect and admiration lavished upon them (I know a few myself) and could indeed be said to be at their prime (again, I know more than a couple of those), this sort of status should, by no means, be granted by age alone. I mean, a Private, or whatever the entry rank is in any given military force, won't become a Marshal, or, again, whatever the highest ranking is in any given military force (you must realise by now, military rankings don't concern me half as much as the correct way to pronounce "Lieutenent" does. I advocate that it should be "lef-TEN-unt", as they say in the UK, not "loo-TEN-unt", as they say where what Obama says goes) just by not leaving the military. An altar boy doesn't just become pope in time by polishing the saints on the shrine (or whatever it is that altar boys, bless their gullible hearts, do). Likewise, the way I see it, just because you managed to make it to 65 - or 75, for that matter - you shouldn't get an automatic "I know best badge".
Right about now I might look like a bit of elderly basher. Allow me to address that (lest I bash you as well): I have nothing against the elderly, and I have no shame in admitting that ever member of my family of the generation prior to my parents' who's still alive is an elder person to prove it. In their defense, someone with 50 years worth of living under their belt ought to have quite a bit of experience, and thus insight, younder fellows might lack (for the time being). I respect that, sure. However (there must always be a "however". It's in the books. And some old guy told me), even the oldest among us should understand that this world we live in and which many would have you believe to be about 6000 years old and made by some improbable and unprovable omnipotent entity is ever-changing. If I, in under 30 meagre years of existence can appreciate it, how can someone with three times as much not?
Sure, somethings would seem no to change, and what better example to illustrate this point than something straight out to TV? About seven years abou, give or take, I was watching an episode of "Freaks and Geeks" on (an old, CRT, bowled-screen) TV. It seemed alright, as it dealt cheifly with the everyday lives of several high-school students, spread across several cliques, I could identify with in some way or another. It seemed just like any other teen show, nut unlike "Popular" or "Clueless", for which I never really cared, but somehow better. I liked it, in spite of some eerie sense of "something is a bit off here". Was it the clothes? The decoration? The cultural references (i.e., "Dallas", "Ker Plunk", "Mousetrap")? It didn't become clear until a makeshift grave for a pet came on screen, setting the storyline-wise recent date of death in the 80's. There it was, I had been assuming the show was set in actuality, because the idle chatter and the common quarrels and boggles of the characters seem current enough, in spite of the odd setting. So, there, some things appear no to change (much), but at age 40, the latest, you should know that not all that glimmers is gold (plenty of pyrite to 'round).
My point seems to have become a bit lost, I'll get straight back on it. Fortunately (though you can't read it), I just took some 15 minutes out to reminesce about "Freaks and Geeks" (I really liked that show), and it's mellowed me out a bit. My point is that no amount of age ever gives you the right to claim to know better and merely dismiss other, younger people's opinions with as little as a condescending head shake and a "No..". And if you ever do, that should automatically invalidate your right to ask that person for an opinion, help or a favour you can't do yourself because you don't know how, as your overinflated experience can't help you there, let alone accuse said person of ill-intent upon failure to comply, despit one's best efforts (too specific? Go figure...). And no amount of age ever ever ever puts you beyond reproach on any matter whatsoever. Get that through your senior skull!
So, in short... I used to be good at the "in short" bit, but these days... In short, know your bloody place. And I don't suppose that only applies to the elderly, but it just seemed to me the elderly needed a refresher course on that. So there...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to remind you all that Epicurism isn't just some decrepit doctrine, but actually makes sense. And, if, for some reason, you're dying any faster than the rest of us or due any sooner than most, for the sake of all that you hold dear, don't just sit in a corner dying and bringing us all down over it, bloody get out there (metaphorically, of course, you might as well stay indoors, if you'd like) and bloody LIVE!!!
If you can read this, then you're reading past the end of the entry. You can stop now. Really, there's nothing more to read here. Oi, I mean it! Go away!!!
Odd...
So here I am, back from my yearly trip to Lovely Lady London! And, with my trip, come a few contemplations I'd like to submit to you.
Sometime in 2008 (I believe. I might be wrong here) Regent Street saw an Apple Store joining the myriad shops lining its gentle curve, and I, needing a power charger for my (sadly 2.5G) iPhone, ventured in. I asked a very friendly sales assistant for the charger and, since I was there, if there were any unlocked 3G iPhones for sale. Turns out there weren't, but the kind man went as far as adding "legally". He wouldn't advise me on how to obtain one, but ha mentioned it. SO off I went to Tottenham Court Road, one of my favourite places in London, to inquire about the possibility of having a 3G iPhone, legaly purchased and locked to O2 (for example) unlocked. As it turns out, it was cheaper to just buy the thing unlocked at the same place where they'd unlock it (with Turbo SIM included and all), but that's hardly may point. As I strolled down Tottenham Court road, past Goodge Street Tube Station and to Warren Street Tube Station, I remebered how only two years before there were quite a few video stores, and I'm not just talking about "Ma and Pa Stores", as it were, but large places, three stories high, each larger tham some so-called supermarkets I've been to. And now, they were all gone. Curiously, the smaller stores remain, trading in pre-owned DVDs, especially box-sets and doing a little something on the side in cell phones, but the large stores are now all luxury and design furniture stores. I have to wonder: with the much heralded crisis upon us, is this really the time to set aside the low-cost, small goods most households manage to be able to afford on a regular basis and instead invest in expensive goods, set in a niche market and which one shouldn't be looking to buy more often than once every few years? Perhaps my views of economy are twisted. I hope they are. At any rate, never in my many trips to London had I ran into so many Masserattis, Jaguars, Bentleys and even Aston Martins in the streets (although this was a bit of a slow year for Porsches). So it would seem that eevn in a most miserable economy, these ideas I'd so swiftly regard as hare-brained lead to an abundance of luxury sports cars. All the better, if you ask me.
Setting the vile issue of finance aside for a moment, one of my most favourite places in London closed down last November. I shall always remember the premisses of Coffee, Cake and Kink in Endell Street (or, at least, until they find a new venue, as they are still anactive company, even though they are now a dot com company). For those who don't know, CCK was a coffee house, erotic art gallery and somewhat of an upscale sex shop, in the way that they sold BDSM and fettish supplies and resources. I miss them. In their absence, I, seeking some new BDSM supplies, was forced to resort to common sex shops, where the walls are rank with cheap porn, the stands rife with poor novelty erotic items and the kinky supplies are, more often than not, inadequate to my standards. Alright, perhaps I'm being a bit stuck up here, but... Hold on...
The following section, as well as the previous, contains references to and descriptions of adult oriented materials and should not be read by minors. Shark Nibbles, its employees and associates take no responsability for any damages incurred in reading those, even if they don't believe any damages might be incurred by reading those at all. At any rate, by reading this disclaimer you agree to proceed at your own risk and waive any right to prossecute. Parental guidance is advised.
Right, where were we? So, I might be a bit stuck up about this, but most of you know that porn isn't all alike. We've all ran into high-quality porn as well as into some crappy scenes where male models keep to swinging their hips mechanically, thinking of something else entirely just so they can last for the duration of the scene and the female models either can't even be bothered to work up a half decent moan or, instead, scream in impossible ecstasy from the first awkward touch to the bitter end, and most of what you'd see on the video racks of sex shops looking for a quick profit would have to fall into the latter category. Also, regarding their fetish supplies, I might again come out as a bit arrogant, but most of their so-called restraints seemed quite poor, although I, as a rope enthusiast, am biased. However, some canes and floggers I found could not be honestly described as anything better than "crap". And I took the care to find the upscale sex-shops, the likes of Harmony (not a bad place, really. Still, they couldn't hold a candle to CCK, if you ask me). Now, my point (yes, I'm about to make one) is that London, with its rich mélange of cultures, subcultures, trends and styles, always struck me as a bastion of tolerance, very much a place where you can be as outrageous as you'd like and not be stared at (except by the tourists). Now, going to a sex shop isn't really something I'm accostumed to. CCK was a different thing altogether, because they were much more of a coffee shop and an art gallery, and this was a bit of a plunge for me. Of course, once you're inside, none of the other patrons are in a position to judge you, because, lest we (and they) forget, they're in a sex shop as well, but, more importantely, it seems to me that the people outside will pass no more judgement either. However, a rather remarkable thought crossed my mind: are the staff just as open minded, as one would think, seeing as they work in a sex shop, or are they more the type to secretely think "sick bastard, taking home this sort of filth" of each customer? The nagging sensation remained for a bit, until a buxom blonde, dressed in a provocative black dress, was so warm to ask me if I needed any help. Still...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark will know knuckle down and abide by the intransigent laws of his condition, but before I do, I'll leave you this much advice: Don't stay at the Park Lane Hotel in London. It might be part of the prestigious Sheraton chain of Hotels, but it's still utter crap, although their "Sweet Sleeper" beds are rather nice.
Sometime in 2008 (I believe. I might be wrong here) Regent Street saw an Apple Store joining the myriad shops lining its gentle curve, and I, needing a power charger for my (sadly 2.5G) iPhone, ventured in. I asked a very friendly sales assistant for the charger and, since I was there, if there were any unlocked 3G iPhones for sale. Turns out there weren't, but the kind man went as far as adding "legally". He wouldn't advise me on how to obtain one, but ha mentioned it. SO off I went to Tottenham Court Road, one of my favourite places in London, to inquire about the possibility of having a 3G iPhone, legaly purchased and locked to O2 (for example) unlocked. As it turns out, it was cheaper to just buy the thing unlocked at the same place where they'd unlock it (with Turbo SIM included and all), but that's hardly may point. As I strolled down Tottenham Court road, past Goodge Street Tube Station and to Warren Street Tube Station, I remebered how only two years before there were quite a few video stores, and I'm not just talking about "Ma and Pa Stores", as it were, but large places, three stories high, each larger tham some so-called supermarkets I've been to. And now, they were all gone. Curiously, the smaller stores remain, trading in pre-owned DVDs, especially box-sets and doing a little something on the side in cell phones, but the large stores are now all luxury and design furniture stores. I have to wonder: with the much heralded crisis upon us, is this really the time to set aside the low-cost, small goods most households manage to be able to afford on a regular basis and instead invest in expensive goods, set in a niche market and which one shouldn't be looking to buy more often than once every few years? Perhaps my views of economy are twisted. I hope they are. At any rate, never in my many trips to London had I ran into so many Masserattis, Jaguars, Bentleys and even Aston Martins in the streets (although this was a bit of a slow year for Porsches). So it would seem that eevn in a most miserable economy, these ideas I'd so swiftly regard as hare-brained lead to an abundance of luxury sports cars. All the better, if you ask me.
Setting the vile issue of finance aside for a moment, one of my most favourite places in London closed down last November. I shall always remember the premisses of Coffee, Cake and Kink in Endell Street (or, at least, until they find a new venue, as they are still anactive company, even though they are now a dot com company). For those who don't know, CCK was a coffee house, erotic art gallery and somewhat of an upscale sex shop, in the way that they sold BDSM and fettish supplies and resources. I miss them. In their absence, I, seeking some new BDSM supplies, was forced to resort to common sex shops, where the walls are rank with cheap porn, the stands rife with poor novelty erotic items and the kinky supplies are, more often than not, inadequate to my standards. Alright, perhaps I'm being a bit stuck up here, but... Hold on...
The following section, as well as the previous, contains references to and descriptions of adult oriented materials and should not be read by minors. Shark Nibbles, its employees and associates take no responsability for any damages incurred in reading those, even if they don't believe any damages might be incurred by reading those at all. At any rate, by reading this disclaimer you agree to proceed at your own risk and waive any right to prossecute. Parental guidance is advised.
Right, where were we? So, I might be a bit stuck up about this, but most of you know that porn isn't all alike. We've all ran into high-quality porn as well as into some crappy scenes where male models keep to swinging their hips mechanically, thinking of something else entirely just so they can last for the duration of the scene and the female models either can't even be bothered to work up a half decent moan or, instead, scream in impossible ecstasy from the first awkward touch to the bitter end, and most of what you'd see on the video racks of sex shops looking for a quick profit would have to fall into the latter category. Also, regarding their fetish supplies, I might again come out as a bit arrogant, but most of their so-called restraints seemed quite poor, although I, as a rope enthusiast, am biased. However, some canes and floggers I found could not be honestly described as anything better than "crap". And I took the care to find the upscale sex-shops, the likes of Harmony (not a bad place, really. Still, they couldn't hold a candle to CCK, if you ask me). Now, my point (yes, I'm about to make one) is that London, with its rich mélange of cultures, subcultures, trends and styles, always struck me as a bastion of tolerance, very much a place where you can be as outrageous as you'd like and not be stared at (except by the tourists). Now, going to a sex shop isn't really something I'm accostumed to. CCK was a different thing altogether, because they were much more of a coffee shop and an art gallery, and this was a bit of a plunge for me. Of course, once you're inside, none of the other patrons are in a position to judge you, because, lest we (and they) forget, they're in a sex shop as well, but, more importantely, it seems to me that the people outside will pass no more judgement either. However, a rather remarkable thought crossed my mind: are the staff just as open minded, as one would think, seeing as they work in a sex shop, or are they more the type to secretely think "sick bastard, taking home this sort of filth" of each customer? The nagging sensation remained for a bit, until a buxom blonde, dressed in a provocative black dress, was so warm to ask me if I needed any help. Still...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark will know knuckle down and abide by the intransigent laws of his condition, but before I do, I'll leave you this much advice: Don't stay at the Park Lane Hotel in London. It might be part of the prestigious Sheraton chain of Hotels, but it's still utter crap, although their "Sweet Sleeper" beds are rather nice.
This was a triumph
I'm making a note here:
"Huge Success!"
So just over two weeks ago, I had made my way up north to take the very prestigious IELTS exam. After FCE, CAE and CPE, another exam couldn't hurt, right? Oh, yeah, and I do have that preliminary certificate I got for English as a foregn language even before I got into high school, but should I even bother to mention that? I guess it can't hurt...
I had been in training for three months for that (during which I had that little run into Fate. I coult take it heads on, no problem. I can safely say I even had a bit of fun, during the Speaking part, chatting to the examiner, Mz. Norton, lovely lady that she is. And today, I got my results in the mail.
Oh sure, split the hair that says that today is Sunday, and that the mail isn't delivered on Sundays. Go on, I'll watch. Really... Alright, so I didn't get them today, I just didn't bother to check my mailbox until today (although I did on Thursday, so the mail must have gotten here on Friday). Long story short, I managed to snag a band 8.5 (bear in mind that the scale only goes up to 9.0). So, yes, it seems I can speak, understand, read and write English.
Pretty awesome, isn't it?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark really finds it hard to overstate his satisfaction. And now, to run some more experiments on the people who are still alive.
"Huge Success!"
So just over two weeks ago, I had made my way up north to take the very prestigious IELTS exam. After FCE, CAE and CPE, another exam couldn't hurt, right? Oh, yeah, and I do have that preliminary certificate I got for English as a foregn language even before I got into high school, but should I even bother to mention that? I guess it can't hurt...
I had been in training for three months for that (during which I had that little run into Fate. I coult take it heads on, no problem. I can safely say I even had a bit of fun, during the Speaking part, chatting to the examiner, Mz. Norton, lovely lady that she is. And today, I got my results in the mail.
Oh sure, split the hair that says that today is Sunday, and that the mail isn't delivered on Sundays. Go on, I'll watch. Really... Alright, so I didn't get them today, I just didn't bother to check my mailbox until today (although I did on Thursday, so the mail must have gotten here on Friday). Long story short, I managed to snag a band 8.5 (bear in mind that the scale only goes up to 9.0). So, yes, it seems I can speak, understand, read and write English.
Pretty awesome, isn't it?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark really finds it hard to overstate his satisfaction. And now, to run some more experiments on the people who are still alive.
Thank you for the music
Pardon me while I let our Scandinavian musical guests out...
Thank you for the pork luncheon meet
Getting there, just one final tune up, bear with me...
Thank you for the spam
Ah, there we go. Third time's the charm... says them...
So, where to begin? I say we start at the midsection. Why? Because it is quite ample and thus proveides plenty of room for all of us to meet and organise out expedition through whatever little sense I muster for this entree. I mean "entry", sorry, bit of a freudian slip, there, I'll explain in a moment. Right now, you might be wandering where the hell am I trying to get to with this talk of large midsections. Let's not skirt the issue: even those who have only ever met me online should have quite the strong inkling that, as I've mentioned before, I'm fat. Let's not sugar coat it (or I might eat it) with terms such as "plump" or "full figured" or "big boned" or the likes. Now, shortly after I began writing this blog, if memory serves me right, I took it upon myself to embark in a stric regimen of nutritious salads, regular walking and managed to lose quite a bit of weight, before some ugly business sent it hurtling right back to me. Ever since I have tried to get back on that program, but I just couldn't bear the taste of lettuce anymore. Even today it makes me shiver. so I tried different things, such as Paul McKenna's plan of listening to my body's signals of hunger and satisfaction, eating very slowly, imagining that high calories comfort foods are repulsive in some way or another and even listened to his self hypnosis track a few times a week, but it didn't take. I guess either my lifestyle or my will weren't adequate to his plan (or maybe its Mr. McKenna's plan that's crap, but I'm not ready to pass judgement on that), and all the while I kept putting on weight. Now, like a blast from the past, I'm taking up the Atkins diet. For those who don't know it, it's based on the principle that our bodies heed carbon hydrates to absorb fat. Also, fat, much like carbon hydrates, is high on energy, but, if not needed as absorbed, gets stored until needed. Thus, a regimen that's hig in protein but low on carbs might be high on fat, because it won't be absorbed. Furthermore, since the organism isn't getting any carbs, it just has to burn fat for energy. Simple enough, right?
This does bring some disadvantages. Most evidentely, it puts strain in one's liver, but, seeing as I never drink... wine (a cookie for whoever catches this reference), I might be able to cope. And, because I should be able to have all the fatty meat and cheese (by Jove, the cheese!) I crave (well, not really, moderation should be employed, but still...), I shouldn't get those miserable spells when I just want a tasty snack, but can't have it without going off my diet, I should be able to keep it up long enough. However, this diet usually causes cravings for carbs, and they do permeate most of everything around us. And, my, I've never craved pasta with chips and SPAM fritters (the funniest bit being that I've never even tasted SPAM fritters in my life) and double chocolate mousse for dessert. However, this gave me the chance to dig up SPAM in the canned preserves aisle. I found out that I rather like it, but tired of it pretty quickly. I was, nonetheless, surprised to know that the SPAM (although I shouldn't be saying SPAM, as SPAM is a registred trademark of the Hornel Foods Company, and this isn't quite the same) I find here is the same SPAM the Brits get, produced by the Tulip Company, in Denmark, under licence from Hornel, so it's probably not too far removed from the propper thing, if at all.
And, speaking of SPAM, here's a bit of spam I got today:
Hi
My name is alisha. Found your ad on that dating site www.hollystad.com
I also love sex on the side. I have a loving partner but he is working 16 hours a day and we have sex only once a week :(
If you are interested and wanna see my pictures just email me at alisha480@hyperpom.com
Don`t reply, use the email above (my boyfriend doesn`t know about that email!)
Give her a call, lads, she sounds pretty feisty! Don't you just love it when spammers do something so obviously wrong it can't help to be funny?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has re-evaluated his previous claims about craving spam fritters, and, seeing as he had his fill of spam over the past week, he'd be ready to waive the fritters for now. But the pasta with chips would be lovely. Try to make that sound repulsive, Paul McKenna. Oh, wait...
Thank you for the pork luncheon meet
Getting there, just one final tune up, bear with me...
Thank you for the spam
Ah, there we go. Third time's the charm... says them...
So, where to begin? I say we start at the midsection. Why? Because it is quite ample and thus proveides plenty of room for all of us to meet and organise out expedition through whatever little sense I muster for this entree. I mean "entry", sorry, bit of a freudian slip, there, I'll explain in a moment. Right now, you might be wandering where the hell am I trying to get to with this talk of large midsections. Let's not skirt the issue: even those who have only ever met me online should have quite the strong inkling that, as I've mentioned before, I'm fat. Let's not sugar coat it (or I might eat it) with terms such as "plump" or "full figured" or "big boned" or the likes. Now, shortly after I began writing this blog, if memory serves me right, I took it upon myself to embark in a stric regimen of nutritious salads, regular walking and managed to lose quite a bit of weight, before some ugly business sent it hurtling right back to me. Ever since I have tried to get back on that program, but I just couldn't bear the taste of lettuce anymore. Even today it makes me shiver. so I tried different things, such as Paul McKenna's plan of listening to my body's signals of hunger and satisfaction, eating very slowly, imagining that high calories comfort foods are repulsive in some way or another and even listened to his self hypnosis track a few times a week, but it didn't take. I guess either my lifestyle or my will weren't adequate to his plan (or maybe its Mr. McKenna's plan that's crap, but I'm not ready to pass judgement on that), and all the while I kept putting on weight. Now, like a blast from the past, I'm taking up the Atkins diet. For those who don't know it, it's based on the principle that our bodies heed carbon hydrates to absorb fat. Also, fat, much like carbon hydrates, is high on energy, but, if not needed as absorbed, gets stored until needed. Thus, a regimen that's hig in protein but low on carbs might be high on fat, because it won't be absorbed. Furthermore, since the organism isn't getting any carbs, it just has to burn fat for energy. Simple enough, right?
This does bring some disadvantages. Most evidentely, it puts strain in one's liver, but, seeing as I never drink... wine (a cookie for whoever catches this reference), I might be able to cope. And, because I should be able to have all the fatty meat and cheese (by Jove, the cheese!) I crave (well, not really, moderation should be employed, but still...), I shouldn't get those miserable spells when I just want a tasty snack, but can't have it without going off my diet, I should be able to keep it up long enough. However, this diet usually causes cravings for carbs, and they do permeate most of everything around us. And, my, I've never craved pasta with chips and SPAM fritters (the funniest bit being that I've never even tasted SPAM fritters in my life) and double chocolate mousse for dessert. However, this gave me the chance to dig up SPAM in the canned preserves aisle. I found out that I rather like it, but tired of it pretty quickly. I was, nonetheless, surprised to know that the SPAM (although I shouldn't be saying SPAM, as SPAM is a registred trademark of the Hornel Foods Company, and this isn't quite the same) I find here is the same SPAM the Brits get, produced by the Tulip Company, in Denmark, under licence from Hornel, so it's probably not too far removed from the propper thing, if at all.
And, speaking of SPAM, here's a bit of spam I got today:
Hi
My name is alisha. Found your ad on that dating site www.hollystad.com
I also love sex on the side. I have a loving partner but he is working 16 hours a day and we have sex only once a week :(
If you are interested and wanna see my pictures just email me at alisha480@hyperpom.com
Don`t reply, use the email above (my boyfriend doesn`t know about that email!)
Give her a call, lads, she sounds pretty feisty! Don't you just love it when spammers do something so obviously wrong it can't help to be funny?
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has re-evaluated his previous claims about craving spam fritters, and, seeing as he had his fill of spam over the past week, he'd be ready to waive the fritters for now. But the pasta with chips would be lovely. Try to make that sound repulsive, Paul McKenna. Oh, wait...
Says them...
"They", whoever they may be, say a lot of things (I might have mentioned it before). Today, I'd like to pore over one of them.
So, and possibly inspired by the grim news du jour (it's been a pretty grim weekend...), "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". This sounds well enough, but how well does this work? I'm thinking back about as far as two years. I see three things that did not kill me. Well, I see plenty of things that did not kill me, but if we were to cinsider all these things, we'd live in a beritable bubble of fear (and, having been there for a very brief period - and worse still, having seen the effects of such practive over a long period - it's not something you'd like). So, berakdown time:
A) My hernia: It's been almost two years since I had my first sciatic pain crisis from that hernia I had removed two years ago come February. I still get the occasional pangs along eiter brach of my sciatic nerve from time to time, but nothing worrisome, usually explainable by something as casual as bad posture, and nothing I shouldn't expect, right? So I lived through that, and now, whenever I slip, even if I manage to regain my footing or even if I don't lose my footing at all, I get scared halfway to death. So two slips on the same day could be the death of me (not really, right? Right, you guys?). How is that stronger than when I was at almost my ideal weight, strong as an ox and laughing at these minor adversities?
B) Colleges and Conflicts: It's not really possible to work for an extended period of time with anyone and not disagree on at least some minor, unimportant thing, is it? Often enough, a big fight arises within a short preiod, and that's what happened, about a year ago, give or take. Long story short, I was accused of slacking off, my work was said to be deemed "unusable", yet used and credit for it taken from me, I was threatened in more ways than I care to remeber and it all ended well... with me absolutely never being any warmer than "cordial" to at least one person ever again. So, did I slack off? Well, I might have... a little... I'm fairly sure I did, I'm not one to deny my shortcomings (not all of them, at least), and that's a fact, but here's a few more facts: I wasn't blatatly ripping off others' work, like some colleagues were doing and inciting me to do; I was awaiting feedback from the rest of my group, and got only accusations in turn; I was more aware of the deadline than them, even though they accused me of the contrary; and finally, fuck you, I was the best damn coder of the whole bloody group, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. So I rushed headlong into this with previous, similar experiences, which led me to repeating the phrase, "I just don't learn." I wonder if I'm stronger for it.
C) Family Falling-outs: You might remeber last year's last entry. Well, there's a no-brainer; this one definitely made me stronger. I got my cat, as promised, and we're quite happpy together; she, as the cute, warm and fuzzy lovely pet, and me, as the fat bloke who feeds her, pets her, cuddles with her, shelters her and provides for her needs. At least this much worked out great.
So does it all make us stronger? I, for one, know of people who have, in fact, been made incredably strong for what has nearly killed them, and other who have been very much left for dead, and weaker for the whole ordeal. Perhaps "they" would like to choose their words a bit more carefully. Fat chance!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has some brand new speakers to replace two of his old speakers in his kick-arse 5.1 surround speakers. Guess one of the old ones was not made stronger by what didn't kill it, and the other lacked some measure of restraint... and got itself killed.
So, and possibly inspired by the grim news du jour (it's been a pretty grim weekend...), "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". This sounds well enough, but how well does this work? I'm thinking back about as far as two years. I see three things that did not kill me. Well, I see plenty of things that did not kill me, but if we were to cinsider all these things, we'd live in a beritable bubble of fear (and, having been there for a very brief period - and worse still, having seen the effects of such practive over a long period - it's not something you'd like). So, berakdown time:
A) My hernia: It's been almost two years since I had my first sciatic pain crisis from that hernia I had removed two years ago come February. I still get the occasional pangs along eiter brach of my sciatic nerve from time to time, but nothing worrisome, usually explainable by something as casual as bad posture, and nothing I shouldn't expect, right? So I lived through that, and now, whenever I slip, even if I manage to regain my footing or even if I don't lose my footing at all, I get scared halfway to death. So two slips on the same day could be the death of me (not really, right? Right, you guys?). How is that stronger than when I was at almost my ideal weight, strong as an ox and laughing at these minor adversities?
B) Colleges and Conflicts: It's not really possible to work for an extended period of time with anyone and not disagree on at least some minor, unimportant thing, is it? Often enough, a big fight arises within a short preiod, and that's what happened, about a year ago, give or take. Long story short, I was accused of slacking off, my work was said to be deemed "unusable", yet used and credit for it taken from me, I was threatened in more ways than I care to remeber and it all ended well... with me absolutely never being any warmer than "cordial" to at least one person ever again. So, did I slack off? Well, I might have... a little... I'm fairly sure I did, I'm not one to deny my shortcomings (not all of them, at least), and that's a fact, but here's a few more facts: I wasn't blatatly ripping off others' work, like some colleagues were doing and inciting me to do; I was awaiting feedback from the rest of my group, and got only accusations in turn; I was more aware of the deadline than them, even though they accused me of the contrary; and finally, fuck you, I was the best damn coder of the whole bloody group, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. So I rushed headlong into this with previous, similar experiences, which led me to repeating the phrase, "I just don't learn." I wonder if I'm stronger for it.
C) Family Falling-outs: You might remeber last year's last entry. Well, there's a no-brainer; this one definitely made me stronger. I got my cat, as promised, and we're quite happpy together; she, as the cute, warm and fuzzy lovely pet, and me, as the fat bloke who feeds her, pets her, cuddles with her, shelters her and provides for her needs. At least this much worked out great.
So does it all make us stronger? I, for one, know of people who have, in fact, been made incredably strong for what has nearly killed them, and other who have been very much left for dead, and weaker for the whole ordeal. Perhaps "they" would like to choose their words a bit more carefully. Fat chance!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has some brand new speakers to replace two of his old speakers in his kick-arse 5.1 surround speakers. Guess one of the old ones was not made stronger by what didn't kill it, and the other lacked some measure of restraint... and got itself killed.
My Blue Suede Shoes
Right... Not bloody likely!
My Black Suede Shoes
Much better. Not quite right yet, however. A long time ago, perhaps...
My Black Leather Boots
Ah, yes, third time's the charm. And now to start making some sense.
Right... Not bloody - oh, wait, we've done this bit! Onwards!
Quite some time ago, I had a pair of black leather boots. I loved those boots almost as much as I love a certain coat I've come to mention here a few times (and which, by the way, I wore last weekend for the first time since I had the lining changed. And it's still the bee's knees), and I wore them ragged. Now, for some reason, when that happened, instead of just getting a pair just like it, as I've done with just about any pair of trousers, pants or socks I've ever worn and liked anywhere near as much, I got a different pair of boots. Might have been some misguided idea that those boots were unsuitable for the winter, which is silly, since their lithe construction is equally adequate for cold, rainy weather as it is for warmer, drier times. Perhaps they were not in stock at the place where I'd get them. Whatever the case, I ended up buying some comparatively monstruous boots of Spanish design and manufacture. Worst pair of boots I ever had!
Now, that's not fair... Firstly, I have nothing against the Spanish (the French, perhaps, but not the Spanish), as my time helping out two Spanish chaps (of my own volition and for no reward) who came over as exchange students earlier this year will vouch for. Secondly, these boots were comfortable enough. Not splendidly comfortable, but good enough. They held my (still) injured ankle well in place and they were waterproof, which comes as rather silly, since they slip on water like ice on a hot plate. And this makes them very dangerous footwear, especially if the wearer's spine is as frail as mine. Off with them!
So yesterday I went back to the sacred store, where I'd heard the music, years before - Oi! Get out of my blog, Don McLean's "American Pie", as sung by Madonna! Get your own! - so I went to the store where I buy my boots (neat store! A bit like an Army Surplus store, but not quite) and finally got myself a pair just like those which I had had and worn ragged. And today, I put on the best boots I ever set foot in, again. Without furter ado, the 5.11 HRT Urban Boot:
UK size 10.
Sweet...
Snug and comfortable, these puppies feature 5.11's unique Shock Mitigation System for a comfortable stride, sprint, skip, hop, jump or tumble, waterproof leather and 11001 nylon, kevlar lined oil and slip resistant soles and will keep those nasty blood-born pathogens off your feet (you know, in case some crazed assailant leaps out of a shady corner and bleeds on your feet... could happen... Not bloody - oh, alright, I'll stop now).
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has been having some serious fun with Command & Conquer Red Alert 3 Premier Edition, which I had to send for from abroad, because it seems you absolutely cannot get it in this wretched caricature of a country I live in. But at least you can still get some good boots.*
* While stocks last. Shark Nibbles, it's employees and associates, including, but not limited to, The Disco-Bar Corporation, are not liable for any consequences of misuse of 5.11 products, such as, but not limited to, envy of proprietary by have-nots, overwhelming style, irresistible sexual magnetism, delusions of grandeur and terrorism. Oh, speaking of terrorism, so the USA have a President named "Hussein", eh? Talk about ironic...
My Black Suede Shoes
Much better. Not quite right yet, however. A long time ago, perhaps...
My Black Leather Boots
Ah, yes, third time's the charm. And now to start making some sense.
Right... Not bloody - oh, wait, we've done this bit! Onwards!
Quite some time ago, I had a pair of black leather boots. I loved those boots almost as much as I love a certain coat I've come to mention here a few times (and which, by the way, I wore last weekend for the first time since I had the lining changed. And it's still the bee's knees), and I wore them ragged. Now, for some reason, when that happened, instead of just getting a pair just like it, as I've done with just about any pair of trousers, pants or socks I've ever worn and liked anywhere near as much, I got a different pair of boots. Might have been some misguided idea that those boots were unsuitable for the winter, which is silly, since their lithe construction is equally adequate for cold, rainy weather as it is for warmer, drier times. Perhaps they were not in stock at the place where I'd get them. Whatever the case, I ended up buying some comparatively monstruous boots of Spanish design and manufacture. Worst pair of boots I ever had!
Now, that's not fair... Firstly, I have nothing against the Spanish (the French, perhaps, but not the Spanish), as my time helping out two Spanish chaps (of my own volition and for no reward) who came over as exchange students earlier this year will vouch for. Secondly, these boots were comfortable enough. Not splendidly comfortable, but good enough. They held my (still) injured ankle well in place and they were waterproof, which comes as rather silly, since they slip on water like ice on a hot plate. And this makes them very dangerous footwear, especially if the wearer's spine is as frail as mine. Off with them!
So yesterday I went back to the sacred store, where I'd heard the music, years before - Oi! Get out of my blog, Don McLean's "American Pie", as sung by Madonna! Get your own! - so I went to the store where I buy my boots (neat store! A bit like an Army Surplus store, but not quite) and finally got myself a pair just like those which I had had and worn ragged. And today, I put on the best boots I ever set foot in, again. Without furter ado, the 5.11 HRT Urban Boot:
UK size 10.Sweet...
Snug and comfortable, these puppies feature 5.11's unique Shock Mitigation System for a comfortable stride, sprint, skip, hop, jump or tumble, waterproof leather and 11001 nylon, kevlar lined oil and slip resistant soles and will keep those nasty blood-born pathogens off your feet (you know, in case some crazed assailant leaps out of a shady corner and bleeds on your feet... could happen... Not bloody - oh, alright, I'll stop now).
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has been having some serious fun with Command & Conquer Red Alert 3 Premier Edition, which I had to send for from abroad, because it seems you absolutely cannot get it in this wretched caricature of a country I live in. But at least you can still get some good boots.*
* While stocks last. Shark Nibbles, it's employees and associates, including, but not limited to, The Disco-Bar Corporation, are not liable for any consequences of misuse of 5.11 products, such as, but not limited to, envy of proprietary by have-nots, overwhelming style, irresistible sexual magnetism, delusions of grandeur and terrorism. Oh, speaking of terrorism, so the USA have a President named "Hussein", eh? Talk about ironic...
Nerd Meat
There's something terrifyingly awkward about that title... What could it be?
Ah, yes!
Nerd Meet
Much better. Well, somewhat better, a gathering of nerds would hardly be thought of as the best thing since sliced bread anywhere, realy.
Incredably Sensual Topless Sweedish Bikini Models Meet
Dream on... No, back to Nerd Meet, the fourth installment of the National Informatics Students Rally. It's on now! I skipped on it some years ago, because I wasn't really in the mood to travel, but this year it's being held on my own doorstep. I had no reason to decline.
Actually, I was rather hoping to spend some days at my hometown this weekend, after a particularly unpleasent Wednesday, but never mind that...
So today, a conference was held, with cmputer interface guru Alan Dix, and I'm all too pleased to report I attended it. I got to meet this genious, whom I had known only from his work, and he did not disappoint me. He even went as far as to give me the thumbs up for remembering my Avogadro number and invited the local media to snap a picture of me (for no ill intend, I can only hope) when I could translate "provenance" into the local native language. My fiftenn minutes of fame... were actually in Dominican Republic, in the Easter of 1999, but you get the drift. At any rate, I got to meet Dix!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is most displeased with the Secretary to the Minister of Science and Technology's response to his enquiry at the end of his lecture on The State of the Art today, at the event's inauguration cerimony. I guess politicians will never change...
Ah, yes!
Nerd Meet
Much better. Well, somewhat better, a gathering of nerds would hardly be thought of as the best thing since sliced bread anywhere, realy.
Incredably Sensual Topless Sweedish Bikini Models Meet
Dream on... No, back to Nerd Meet, the fourth installment of the National Informatics Students Rally. It's on now! I skipped on it some years ago, because I wasn't really in the mood to travel, but this year it's being held on my own doorstep. I had no reason to decline.
Actually, I was rather hoping to spend some days at my hometown this weekend, after a particularly unpleasent Wednesday, but never mind that...
So today, a conference was held, with cmputer interface guru Alan Dix, and I'm all too pleased to report I attended it. I got to meet this genious, whom I had known only from his work, and he did not disappoint me. He even went as far as to give me the thumbs up for remembering my Avogadro number and invited the local media to snap a picture of me (for no ill intend, I can only hope) when I could translate "provenance" into the local native language. My fiftenn minutes of fame... were actually in Dominican Republic, in the Easter of 1999, but you get the drift. At any rate, I got to meet Dix!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is most displeased with the Secretary to the Minister of Science and Technology's response to his enquiry at the end of his lecture on The State of the Art today, at the event's inauguration cerimony. I guess politicians will never change...
Windows Genuine Advantage Validaaaargh!
Seriously, Microsoft, WTF!?
I could rant about how you're swarming my market and my very young children with your personal sort of infectious insincere generosity which will, ultimately, increase our foreign debt and darw this rotten shamble of a country further down its doom-laden path o mediocrity. Instead, I'll address a more personal issue.
So over a year ago, I took you (dubiously) generous offer and applied for a free, valid Windows XP key from MSDN Academic Alliance. All went sparklingly well, and I had my little computer that could up and running for well over a year. Recentely, however, it all went to mush, and after a penous period of backups, I was comfortable with the idea of formatting and re-installing. So I whipped out my Windows XP Professional SP2, burned from an ISO image provided by MSDN Academic Alliance (it might sound as though I'm singing praise to this entity. Well, only partially), and went on to throw the irrevokable reset switch. Only this time, my key was no good.
As I would find out, the key MSDNAA assigned me is good for a single installation. After that, I'm just hoping it might be renewed. So I had to make do with an expired VLK licence key, and, just as expected, today the WGA thing started wreaking havok in my PC.
Seriously, Microsoft, what were you thinking? You know how your system is likely to need the occasional extreme solution. You know how useres are likely to upgrade their core components. For peanut butter and jam's sake, your system will even cry out bloody murder if it's transfered to another, exactly alike disk drive just because the serial number doesn't match, and you had to make disposable keys? Is it sadism or just the sort of misguided idiocy the world has come to expect from the self-proclaimed leader of the alledgedly free world for the last eight years? And what is it with that WGA tool? I've had viruses that were less harmful and annoying that that.
And dont get me started on your client support. You would have charged me €60,00 (not a typo! Sixty sodding Euro!) for a call, had I resorted to that service of yours twice before, and the gent who ansewred was even more clueless than I was. Would you have charged me €60,00 for "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do"? I don't doubt it, you profiteering gluttons!
Well, then, Shark, old bean, why don't you just stick wholeheartedly, full-time to some other operating system, one which won't pester you for CD Keys and $149,90 for something you're already entitled to and isntead is mantained and supported by entire communities of keen programmers for free?
You mean Linux?
Oh, well, now... yes.
Thank you for that lovely intervention, Nagging Doubt In The Back Of My Head.
Please, just call me Gaz!
Gaz. Of course you're more than just some measure of right. I just wish software developers (a free beheading coupon for anyone chanting "Developers, developers, developers, developers", à lá Steve Ballmer) would realise this and think of the little ones who wish to free themselves of the tyranny of this oppressive monopolist, but don't want to relinquish the use of their magnificent products (for which, incidentally, we're willing to pay... ONCE, Electronic Arts!). Sure, there's OpenOffice and Gimp and whatnot to offset all your work needs for free, but I need not tell you all work and no play makes ArabianShark a dull, sour and very irritable member of the elasmobrachiae family of water-dewlling animals.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark ponders the issue of weaseling his way out of the current predicament with a crack. On one hand, piracy isn't something this sea treader encourages or enjoys; on the other, I have a legal right to what I would seem to be acquiring through dubious ways. Oh, and how hard can it be to secure a legitimate copy of Command & Conquer Red Alert 3 Premier Edition? In this land of NO opportunity, quite hard indeed...
I could rant about how you're swarming my market and my very young children with your personal sort of infectious insincere generosity which will, ultimately, increase our foreign debt and darw this rotten shamble of a country further down its doom-laden path o mediocrity. Instead, I'll address a more personal issue.
So over a year ago, I took you (dubiously) generous offer and applied for a free, valid Windows XP key from MSDN Academic Alliance. All went sparklingly well, and I had my little computer that could up and running for well over a year. Recentely, however, it all went to mush, and after a penous period of backups, I was comfortable with the idea of formatting and re-installing. So I whipped out my Windows XP Professional SP2, burned from an ISO image provided by MSDN Academic Alliance (it might sound as though I'm singing praise to this entity. Well, only partially), and went on to throw the irrevokable reset switch. Only this time, my key was no good.
As I would find out, the key MSDNAA assigned me is good for a single installation. After that, I'm just hoping it might be renewed. So I had to make do with an expired VLK licence key, and, just as expected, today the WGA thing started wreaking havok in my PC.
Seriously, Microsoft, what were you thinking? You know how your system is likely to need the occasional extreme solution. You know how useres are likely to upgrade their core components. For peanut butter and jam's sake, your system will even cry out bloody murder if it's transfered to another, exactly alike disk drive just because the serial number doesn't match, and you had to make disposable keys? Is it sadism or just the sort of misguided idiocy the world has come to expect from the self-proclaimed leader of the alledgedly free world for the last eight years? And what is it with that WGA tool? I've had viruses that were less harmful and annoying that that.
And dont get me started on your client support. You would have charged me €60,00 (not a typo! Sixty sodding Euro!) for a call, had I resorted to that service of yours twice before, and the gent who ansewred was even more clueless than I was. Would you have charged me €60,00 for "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do"? I don't doubt it, you profiteering gluttons!
Well, then, Shark, old bean, why don't you just stick wholeheartedly, full-time to some other operating system, one which won't pester you for CD Keys and $149,90 for something you're already entitled to and isntead is mantained and supported by entire communities of keen programmers for free?
You mean Linux?
Oh, well, now... yes.
Thank you for that lovely intervention, Nagging Doubt In The Back Of My Head.
Please, just call me Gaz!
Gaz. Of course you're more than just some measure of right. I just wish software developers (a free beheading coupon for anyone chanting "Developers, developers, developers, developers", à lá Steve Ballmer) would realise this and think of the little ones who wish to free themselves of the tyranny of this oppressive monopolist, but don't want to relinquish the use of their magnificent products (for which, incidentally, we're willing to pay... ONCE, Electronic Arts!). Sure, there's OpenOffice and Gimp and whatnot to offset all your work needs for free, but I need not tell you all work and no play makes ArabianShark a dull, sour and very irritable member of the elasmobrachiae family of water-dewlling animals.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark ponders the issue of weaseling his way out of the current predicament with a crack. On one hand, piracy isn't something this sea treader encourages or enjoys; on the other, I have a legal right to what I would seem to be acquiring through dubious ways. Oh, and how hard can it be to secure a legitimate copy of Command & Conquer Red Alert 3 Premier Edition? In this land of NO opportunity, quite hard indeed...
Expecting!
So Fate spat in the face of my kind offer... Onwards, then.
Not long ago I posted about entering Command & Conquer: Red Alert 3 Beta program. Well, my Beta priviledges have been revoked (as have everyone else's, rest assured) almost a month ago, to make room for my pre-order priviledges, which I waived, seeing as the pre-order bonuses, juicy though they may seem, were wasted on me.
However, I have recentely taken to scouring the Red Alert 3 site. Most of everything I've been reading there has come to be redundant, but I still managed to find this, which I recommend, for a laugh.
So right now you've either gone straight for the link, without so much as a modicum of restraint or overlooked it with more than a modicum of suspicion or, as a compromise, opened it in a new tab, in which case, assuming you have a decent web connection, you should be listening to something right about now. So, to soothe your fears, it's just an embedded music video andGod god won't punish your immortal soul in Hell, because he likely doesn't exist.
The music part is less than great (does it seem to you that the glorious days of "Fight, Win, Prevail!" are behind us? Me too...), it might even strike you as a overly self-indulgent or shamelessly self promoting (funny, it does to me too, and I'm a fan of the series), but the clip features some rewarding eye candy (it won't rot your teeth or make you fat. Best kind of candy ever) and, for the Sci-Fi and/or retro-gaming buffs, George Takei has a funny little morsel for you.
Not for you, Fate! Off! Off! Bad bitch!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is well aware that the Imperial Defenders' ability to slink into a "spider hole" is blatantly ripped off most of Starcraft's Zerg units, as they have been able to burrow for bloody ages now. Don't rub it in.
Not long ago I posted about entering Command & Conquer: Red Alert 3 Beta program. Well, my Beta priviledges have been revoked (as have everyone else's, rest assured) almost a month ago, to make room for my pre-order priviledges, which I waived, seeing as the pre-order bonuses, juicy though they may seem, were wasted on me.
However, I have recentely taken to scouring the Red Alert 3 site. Most of everything I've been reading there has come to be redundant, but I still managed to find this, which I recommend, for a laugh.
So right now you've either gone straight for the link, without so much as a modicum of restraint or overlooked it with more than a modicum of suspicion or, as a compromise, opened it in a new tab, in which case, assuming you have a decent web connection, you should be listening to something right about now. So, to soothe your fears, it's just an embedded music video and
The music part is less than great (does it seem to you that the glorious days of "Fight, Win, Prevail!" are behind us? Me too...), it might even strike you as a overly self-indulgent or shamelessly self promoting (funny, it does to me too, and I'm a fan of the series), but the clip features some rewarding eye candy (it won't rot your teeth or make you fat. Best kind of candy ever) and, for the Sci-Fi and/or retro-gaming buffs, George Takei has a funny little morsel for you.
Not for you, Fate! Off! Off! Bad bitch!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is well aware that the Imperial Defenders' ability to slink into a "spider hole" is blatantly ripped off most of Starcraft's Zerg units, as they have been able to burrow for bloody ages now. Don't rub it in.
Old Flings...
Actually, that's not exactly accurate...
Old Crushes...
Or "How the Mighty Have Fallen"
So just last night I happened to sort of run into an old crush of mine. How old, you say? Well, I suppose it could have been more than a handful of years, it's hard to tell exactly, so I'll refrain form just saying any number. Still, it got mw thinking...
Have I ever been so superficial that I could be so madly enamorated (as I recall, it was quite a crush indeed) for this gal? Whatever mild impression I got from her just yesterday would have put me off, were we to start anew, with no recollection of the past at all. I was really disappointed, I can't tell if more so with her or myself.
Still... the years have been most kind to her. She looked even better than I recalled, and, seeing as I held such a deified image of her beauty, that's no small task. No small task indeed.
Nope.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark offers Madam Fate a chance at redemption today. Reward will come as an apology and strawberry jam. Everybody likes strawberrys, it seems...
Old Crushes...
Or "How the Mighty Have Fallen"
So just last night I happened to sort of run into an old crush of mine. How old, you say? Well, I suppose it could have been more than a handful of years, it's hard to tell exactly, so I'll refrain form just saying any number. Still, it got mw thinking...
Have I ever been so superficial that I could be so madly enamorated (as I recall, it was quite a crush indeed) for this gal? Whatever mild impression I got from her just yesterday would have put me off, were we to start anew, with no recollection of the past at all. I was really disappointed, I can't tell if more so with her or myself.
Still... the years have been most kind to her. She looked even better than I recalled, and, seeing as I held such a deified image of her beauty, that's no small task. No small task indeed.
Nope.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark offers Madam Fate a chance at redemption today. Reward will come as an apology and strawberry jam. Everybody likes strawberrys, it seems...
Fate...
Sci-Fi buffs should know that at no time during this entry will Fate mean the supercomputer which rules the United Kingdom in the bleak retro-futuristic world of V for Vendetta. So...
Fate...
Fate is a cruel mistress.
So...
Fuck you, Fate, you sadistic bitch! The pox is too good for your wretched arse! A thousand blights on your rotten carcass... and the pox on top of it.
... fucking cunt...
Pax vobiscum atque vale. Not you, Fate!
ArabianShark is a bit irritable tonight, and possibly for the next week(s). And it's all your damned fault, Fate!
Fate...
Fate is a cruel mistress.
So...
Fuck you, Fate, you sadistic bitch! The pox is too good for your wretched arse! A thousand blights on your rotten carcass... and the pox on top of it.
... fucking cunt...
Pax vobiscum atque vale. Not you, Fate!
ArabianShark is a bit irritable tonight, and possibly for the next week(s). And it's all your damned fault, Fate!
What's happening to me???
Something isn't quite right. That fulfilled my understatement quota for the whole millenium. I'm going positively batty.
Up until last Monday I wanted only four small thins from life: a smalll fortune, a small mansion, a small Aston Martin and a small Brittish passport. Insert laughter here, because I'm a bit distressed to do that myself. Last Monday, however, my world got a pretty vigorous shaking.
You may or may not believe this (you won't. Never mind), but I woke up that very same day with what could only be described as a Force Premonition of what was about to happen (having finished The Force Unleashed in just a few sittings may have had a bit to do with it). The Dark Side, however, everything clouded, and instead of the upcomming upheavel, I sensed only a mild amusement, which I was only too swift to dismiss.
Then later that day I had plenty warning of the cataclysm to come, and it would not have taken any measure of clearvoyance whatsoever to read the signs which, like my earlier inkling, I chose to ignore.
Then... it happened.
Now four small things aren't enough. Now I want more. Now I stress over that newest desire every waking hour. I have not felt like this in nearly ten years. It did not end well last time and-
No, wait, that's not entirely correct. I haven't felt like this in over five years, and last time it turned out to be nothing much, but still...
Come to think of it, if a pattern is to be observed, perhaps this time it turns out for the best. Third time is the charm, they say. I'd very much like to meet with them. Sometimes they turn out to be wiser than Yoda and sometimes they spew more lies than Palpatine. I'd like a word, please. "Granted" would do...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark tried his hand at baking this week. It turned out fairly enough. Next time might go better. The time after that, however, is when I expect the coveted charm to occur.
Up until last Monday I wanted only four small thins from life: a smalll fortune, a small mansion, a small Aston Martin and a small Brittish passport. Insert laughter here, because I'm a bit distressed to do that myself. Last Monday, however, my world got a pretty vigorous shaking.
You may or may not believe this (you won't. Never mind), but I woke up that very same day with what could only be described as a Force Premonition of what was about to happen (having finished The Force Unleashed in just a few sittings may have had a bit to do with it). The Dark Side, however, everything clouded, and instead of the upcomming upheavel, I sensed only a mild amusement, which I was only too swift to dismiss.
Then later that day I had plenty warning of the cataclysm to come, and it would not have taken any measure of clearvoyance whatsoever to read the signs which, like my earlier inkling, I chose to ignore.
Then... it happened.
Now four small things aren't enough. Now I want more. Now I stress over that newest desire every waking hour. I have not felt like this in nearly ten years. It did not end well last time and-
No, wait, that's not entirely correct. I haven't felt like this in over five years, and last time it turned out to be nothing much, but still...
Come to think of it, if a pattern is to be observed, perhaps this time it turns out for the best. Third time is the charm, they say. I'd very much like to meet with them. Sometimes they turn out to be wiser than Yoda and sometimes they spew more lies than Palpatine. I'd like a word, please. "Granted" would do...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark tried his hand at baking this week. It turned out fairly enough. Next time might go better. The time after that, however, is when I expect the coveted charm to occur.
Joy-joy, then
Hey, I just realised a reader who doesn't know about the second paragraph of this might think I'm posting about Jamie Pressly's character from "My Name is Earl". Ha ha... no.
So now to post on a lighter note. Following with the theme of a previous entry, I have now successfully played through The Force Unleashed, and managed to evade the dreaded Default Text Glitch. One might jest it became scared of my incepient hypergraphy. Loved the game, although the Sith Saber Flurry technique still elludes me, and I must master it to pass on the sith trials or Lord Vader will have my head for failing him! Sorry, I might have overdone it a bit. But the whole concept of being this force user who uses the force not only to plow through the endless hordes of rank and file foes as we've seen in previous games (i.e., Jedi Knight, Knights of the Old Republic) but also interact with the environment on a whole different scale than previously observed (i.e., Jedi Knight. A game of reference indeed) is quite awesome. That and the new ways one can use the Force to dismiss his enemies. For example, Force Repulse allows you to pretty much use Force Wave from KotOR, but exactly when you'd like, not in a turn based scenario, but I suspect you wouldn't find much difference there. So in comes the great flexibility and ingenuity that allows you to combine Force Grip with just about anything else you'd like, according to the situation. Feel like taking out the hapless drone you've just grasped along with all of his buddies? Infuse his body with Force Lightning and watch him explode all over them. Knocking them over good enough? Just flong him with the stick. neet it to hurt? Use Force Push and hurl him like a cannonball. Or, if that's the last of the bunch, drop him down the nearest conveninet chasm. If one can't be found, how about impaling him on your lightsaber? Oh fun! And what would be of a game without boss fights? Fear not, boss fights and mini-boss fights aer there, and with a somewhat spectacular twist. Whenever you're faced with something big, such as, say, a Rancor or an AT-ST (or any of its derivates, made for this game, it seems), after you've bashed it a bit with whatever, you get a chance to perform a finishing move, pressing certains buttons at specific times. While some (Yahtzee!) may advocate against the use of quick time events*, the chance to split an AT-ST down the middle or scrunch up an AT-CT (the C stands for construction) like a sheet of paper is quite satisfying.
Right, after that almost endless paragraph of joy-PAIN!, let's get to some other joyous matters. Recentely, I decided to try another little morsel of Americana that's managed to seep into the scrutiny of the civilised side of the Atlantic (oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend the civilised portion of the western coast of the Atlantic, i.e, Canada. Ha Ha! How do you like that? Oh, alright, and Jamaica, to be fair...), and ever since it has been Peanut Butter Jelly Time, albeit not with a baseball bat or a football cap. I've been aware of the Americans' predilection for this particular type of sandwich for just about as long as I can remember, but never before had the urge or even will to try it. The tipping point? I can't really place my finger on it, but Dr. Robert Chase (known to his parents and his lovely former fiancee as Jesse Spencer) fixing himself one at the doctors' lounge after the very evil Detective Triter froze his bank account might have something to do with it, as would Dr. House stealing half of his colleague Dr. James Wilson's at one time. One must trust Dr. House's judgement! Right? Now, for all the praise Wikipedia, it still refrains from recommending any jelly or jam in particular, hence my most recent poll, and the results do seem to align to my personal preference, so I'll stick with it, for the moment.
Keeping with the culinary concerns, something else I've been delving quite a bit lately is bacon. I got an induction hob to make up for my lack of a functioning stove, even though pretty much all I cook is scrambled eggs (I don't cook that often either... I also make pasta occasionally), and the bacon seemed like a logical, no to mention archetypal, choice to go with them. Naturally, I've tried it on the frying pan, with quite satisfying results. Then, of course, right before my microwave tragedy, I tried microwaving the bacon, with surprisingly good results. For one,the most a great deal of some of the fat just spurted out and onto the plate, which seems like good news, meaning I'd reduce my fat intake by a few tablespoons of grease (by the way, does the soap recepie from Fight Club really work? I have quite a bit of grease just waiting for the wasing up...). Now my new microwave (oh, yes, it's working now. I got a replacement part from a similar model at the supermarket. I'm not taking back the pox, though.) has a grill feature, and I've tried grilling the bacon. For one thing, it didn't make it curl up into tiny bacon crisps like the standard microwave setting does, but then it seems to start to burn the bacon before it's thoroughly crispy and as lean as it was before. So, here's my request to you: how dlo you prepare your bacon? I'd really like to know.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
*ArabianShark would like to point out that, as Lord Yahtzee himself has stated before, although Yahtzee does tend to go off at the mere mention of Quick Time Events, he is not against them altogether. In this case, I think even Yahtzee would agree that they are used sensibly and adequately, since they don't just pop out of nothing, aren't essential and do somewhat contribute to the gameplay. Now if only someone could explain Mr. Codename Starkiller (Master Lucas must have had that stuck in his throat for over 30 years now...) that it is perfectly acceptable to jusp up, do an aerial burst of Force Lightning and, force points allowing, do another before he lands. Or some saber attacks. That would be nice...
So now to post on a lighter note. Following with the theme of a previous entry, I have now successfully played through The Force Unleashed, and managed to evade the dreaded Default Text Glitch. One might jest it became scared of my incepient hypergraphy. Loved the game, although the Sith Saber Flurry technique still elludes me, and I must master it to pass on the sith trials or Lord Vader will have my head for failing him! Sorry, I might have overdone it a bit. But the whole concept of being this force user who uses the force not only to plow through the endless hordes of rank and file foes as we've seen in previous games (i.e., Jedi Knight, Knights of the Old Republic) but also interact with the environment on a whole different scale than previously observed (i.e., Jedi Knight. A game of reference indeed) is quite awesome. That and the new ways one can use the Force to dismiss his enemies. For example, Force Repulse allows you to pretty much use Force Wave from KotOR, but exactly when you'd like, not in a turn based scenario, but I suspect you wouldn't find much difference there. So in comes the great flexibility and ingenuity that allows you to combine Force Grip with just about anything else you'd like, according to the situation. Feel like taking out the hapless drone you've just grasped along with all of his buddies? Infuse his body with Force Lightning and watch him explode all over them. Knocking them over good enough? Just flong him with the stick. neet it to hurt? Use Force Push and hurl him like a cannonball. Or, if that's the last of the bunch, drop him down the nearest conveninet chasm. If one can't be found, how about impaling him on your lightsaber? Oh fun! And what would be of a game without boss fights? Fear not, boss fights and mini-boss fights aer there, and with a somewhat spectacular twist. Whenever you're faced with something big, such as, say, a Rancor or an AT-ST (or any of its derivates, made for this game, it seems), after you've bashed it a bit with whatever, you get a chance to perform a finishing move, pressing certains buttons at specific times. While some (Yahtzee!) may advocate against the use of quick time events*, the chance to split an AT-ST down the middle or scrunch up an AT-CT (the C stands for construction) like a sheet of paper is quite satisfying.
Right, after that almost endless paragraph of joy-PAIN!, let's get to some other joyous matters. Recentely, I decided to try another little morsel of Americana that's managed to seep into the scrutiny of the civilised side of the Atlantic (oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend the civilised portion of the western coast of the Atlantic, i.e, Canada. Ha Ha! How do you like that? Oh, alright, and Jamaica, to be fair...), and ever since it has been Peanut Butter Jelly Time, albeit not with a baseball bat or a football cap. I've been aware of the Americans' predilection for this particular type of sandwich for just about as long as I can remember, but never before had the urge or even will to try it. The tipping point? I can't really place my finger on it, but Dr. Robert Chase (known to his parents and his lovely former fiancee as Jesse Spencer) fixing himself one at the doctors' lounge after the very evil Detective Triter froze his bank account might have something to do with it, as would Dr. House stealing half of his colleague Dr. James Wilson's at one time. One must trust Dr. House's judgement! Right? Now, for all the praise Wikipedia, it still refrains from recommending any jelly or jam in particular, hence my most recent poll, and the results do seem to align to my personal preference, so I'll stick with it, for the moment.
Keeping with the culinary concerns, something else I've been delving quite a bit lately is bacon. I got an induction hob to make up for my lack of a functioning stove, even though pretty much all I cook is scrambled eggs (I don't cook that often either... I also make pasta occasionally), and the bacon seemed like a logical, no to mention archetypal, choice to go with them. Naturally, I've tried it on the frying pan, with quite satisfying results. Then, of course, right before my microwave tragedy, I tried microwaving the bacon, with surprisingly good results. For one,
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
*ArabianShark would like to point out that, as Lord Yahtzee himself has stated before, although Yahtzee does tend to go off at the mere mention of Quick Time Events, he is not against them altogether. In this case, I think even Yahtzee would agree that they are used sensibly and adequately, since they don't just pop out of nothing, aren't essential and do somewhat contribute to the gameplay. Now if only someone could explain Mr. Codename Starkiller (Master Lucas must have had that stuck in his throat for over 30 years now...) that it is perfectly acceptable to jusp up, do an aerial burst of Force Lightning and, force points allowing, do another before he lands. Or some saber attacks. That would be nice...
More pox on the supermarket people
I believe I've stated before some emasure of disliking towards the supermerket people. Today, I'll elaborate on the matter.
Before I go on, though, and just so you don't come to regard me as the ever-disgruntled type who leads some joyless life always scavenging for any morsel of contempt to whine about, I was going to make a joy-joy filled entry about culinary and entertainment up until about 8 o'clock this evening. and then...
I went shopping for a microwave today. My old microwave, which I've had since I first came to college, sprung a hole (yes, a charred, gaping hole) on its inner side wall, just next to the magnetron, and became unsafe to use. Sad and inconveninet, but, you know, these things happen. So I pick a new one from a miserably poor selection and ask if they deliver. I don't drive, as you might recall. I also still have two incepient discal hernias, as you might as well recall. And, of course, the supermarket peple deliver large appliances costing over €120,00. Right off the bat I wondered if some gargantuan appliance priced at €119,99 would be eligible for delivery. And, naturally, microwaves aren't eligible for delivery.
So, to spare you the specifics, I enlisted the help of a close friend and get on with it. Past the horrible, unkind and slow customer relations, turns out the microwaves on display were incorrectly labeled, and I ended up buying the wrong one. Naturally, I didn't find this out until I got home. So we lug the thing back to the supermarket and, after explaining two sales assistants what the matter was (in fact, after convinving them there was a matter in the first place... thickies) and the waiting (ye gods, the waiting! The unnecessary stress on my poor vertebrae! The soreness on my dear ol' feet! The pain!), we come to the conclusion that there are no such microwaves in stock and that I might buy the one on display... which I do.
So after much grappling with missing accessories, instruction manuals begone and filing a formal complaint (for once, I tired of swalling it over the lump of my throat), another very close mate of mine offered to drive me and my recentrly purchased oven home... where I could find out that it's missing the coupling between the electrical motor and the spinning plate, causing the spinning plate not to spin at all. A whole evening lost, both for me and that mate of mine who first volunteered to help, the pain, both for me and the mate who would later volunteer and who suffered in a (hopefully small, albeit quite painful, I believe) incident, for which I am to blame, though I meant for none of it, all in vain.
The pox on you, supermarket people!!!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to remind you that he still owes you that joy-joy entry about culinary and entertainment. Give it a day or two, untill this whole mess is settled.
Before I go on, though, and just so you don't come to regard me as the ever-disgruntled type who leads some joyless life always scavenging for any morsel of contempt to whine about, I was going to make a joy-joy filled entry about culinary and entertainment up until about 8 o'clock this evening. and then...
I went shopping for a microwave today. My old microwave, which I've had since I first came to college, sprung a hole (yes, a charred, gaping hole) on its inner side wall, just next to the magnetron, and became unsafe to use. Sad and inconveninet, but, you know, these things happen. So I pick a new one from a miserably poor selection and ask if they deliver. I don't drive, as you might recall. I also still have two incepient discal hernias, as you might as well recall. And, of course, the supermarket peple deliver large appliances costing over €120,00. Right off the bat I wondered if some gargantuan appliance priced at €119,99 would be eligible for delivery. And, naturally, microwaves aren't eligible for delivery.
So, to spare you the specifics, I enlisted the help of a close friend and get on with it. Past the horrible, unkind and slow customer relations, turns out the microwaves on display were incorrectly labeled, and I ended up buying the wrong one. Naturally, I didn't find this out until I got home. So we lug the thing back to the supermarket and, after explaining two sales assistants what the matter was (in fact, after convinving them there was a matter in the first place... thickies) and the waiting (ye gods, the waiting! The unnecessary stress on my poor vertebrae! The soreness on my dear ol' feet! The pain!), we come to the conclusion that there are no such microwaves in stock and that I might buy the one on display... which I do.
So after much grappling with missing accessories, instruction manuals begone and filing a formal complaint (for once, I tired of swalling it over the lump of my throat), another very close mate of mine offered to drive me and my recentrly purchased oven home... where I could find out that it's missing the coupling between the electrical motor and the spinning plate, causing the spinning plate not to spin at all. A whole evening lost, both for me and that mate of mine who first volunteered to help, the pain, both for me and the mate who would later volunteer and who suffered in a (hopefully small, albeit quite painful, I believe) incident, for which I am to blame, though I meant for none of it, all in vain.
The pox on you, supermarket people!!!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark would like to remind you that he still owes you that joy-joy entry about culinary and entertainment. Give it a day or two, untill this whole mess is settled.
Back to the grind
So here we are, two and a half weeks into September and (hopefully) for the last time it's back to class. With a rather lax semester, I should have plenty of time to breathe easy, attempt to find out what everyone else means by "social life" and get through most of what will become my Masters Thesis.
(self indulging pause)
Doesn't that sound nice, "Masters Thesis"? it's one of those marvellous sounding two word phrases, right up there with "Charing Cross" and "Bondage Sex". And what about the status? It goes great with my new choice of barber and the way my goatee is finally comming along (nearly a year after I started growing it). Come get me, ladies, I'm single. I mean it. Come on...
This month is rife with excitement. There's the promise of my last year in college, the aforementioned Masters Thesis and two little games we've been drooling over for eons.
First and foremost, Spore, from video game designer God Will Wright. Now, this is something lots of gamers have been gagging for for about three years. I remeber Will Wright's first presentation, which I watched on Google Video, before Google realised it would be better to merge with YouTube rather than compete, from before the game was given it's current cartoonish look. This title has been taking a lot of heat beacuse of EA's nutty DRM policy, with content becomimg less important for review matters, so here's a review that actually focuses on the game aspect of the game*.
Another title released this month, though I am yet to get my hands on it, and for which I and plenty of my peers have been waiting for fro over a year is Star Wars: The Force Unleashed. I have, however, played the demo, and it absolutely rocks. For someone who, like myself, has played both KOTOR titles as a consular and very much enjoied tearing through hordes of enemies with Force powers alone, hurling service droids at stromtroopers or combining a lightsaber slash with a Force lightning explosion or even taking down TIE fighters with my bare hands used to be immensely satisfying, in a simple-mided cathartic way, up until the point when I found myself cleaving a whole AT-ST in half with nothing but my lightsaber and sheer awesomeness.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
*ArabianShark would like to draw your attention to the fact that this review might not be entirely family freindly and should not be viewed by children. ArabianShark takes no responsability for any collateral effects of exposure to this content such as but not limited to increase of charisma, greater velocity of speech, cynicism or an urge to visit or move to Robina, Queensland.
(self indulging pause)
Doesn't that sound nice, "Masters Thesis"? it's one of those marvellous sounding two word phrases, right up there with "Charing Cross" and "Bondage Sex". And what about the status? It goes great with my new choice of barber and the way my goatee is finally comming along (nearly a year after I started growing it). Come get me, ladies, I'm single. I mean it. Come on...
This month is rife with excitement. There's the promise of my last year in college, the aforementioned Masters Thesis and two little games we've been drooling over for eons.
First and foremost, Spore, from video game designer God Will Wright. Now, this is something lots of gamers have been gagging for for about three years. I remeber Will Wright's first presentation, which I watched on Google Video, before Google realised it would be better to merge with YouTube rather than compete, from before the game was given it's current cartoonish look. This title has been taking a lot of heat beacuse of EA's nutty DRM policy, with content becomimg less important for review matters, so here's a review that actually focuses on the game aspect of the game*.
Another title released this month, though I am yet to get my hands on it, and for which I and plenty of my peers have been waiting for fro over a year is Star Wars: The Force Unleashed. I have, however, played the demo, and it absolutely rocks. For someone who, like myself, has played both KOTOR titles as a consular and very much enjoied tearing through hordes of enemies with Force powers alone, hurling service droids at stromtroopers or combining a lightsaber slash with a Force lightning explosion or even taking down TIE fighters with my bare hands used to be immensely satisfying, in a simple-mided cathartic way, up until the point when I found myself cleaving a whole AT-ST in half with nothing but my lightsaber and sheer awesomeness.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
*ArabianShark would like to draw your attention to the fact that this review might not be entirely family freindly and should not be viewed by children. ArabianShark takes no responsability for any collateral effects of exposure to this content such as but not limited to increase of charisma, greater velocity of speech, cynicism or an urge to visit or move to Robina, Queensland.
Stalkers in the night
Remeber a while bach when I had this groovy fiction thing going? Ages (or so it feels now) before I even knew what surgery felt like? Remeber how I had my little clan of vampires breeding in my socks clan?
Well, it wasn't a fad, the little vamps are alive (well, undead) and well. A bit underfed, these days, and dearly needing their exercise, but otherwise alright. They might not have seen the light of day in... well, ever, but they're certainly not gone.
Just this week, I picked up Vampire, the Masquerade: Bloodlines from the bottom of my drawer. I hadn't played it in literally years, but I can scarcely name any othr game I liked as much. Of the many clans I remember having played as a Tremere male (those guys are way greater than bear infantry or bears with rifles, a Malkavian female (that was a laugh) and a Gangrel male (that wasn't as great as I had in mind... plus, by then, it would have been my third consecutive playthough of the game, not counting the halfway playthrough I did before the Tremere male, before I ran into some technical difficulties, e.i., fried RAM). A few days ago I started playing as Nosferatu male (or so the game tells me. I've seen what passes as a Nosferatu female. Could have been a different male. The game designers could have gone a few inches further, not asking for the extra mile, to differentiate the models). I had wanted to do this for a long time. And now that I brought myself to it, I took the chance and installed the unofficial patch 5.5. I digress. My point is, have I become so jaded that this doesn't seem as fun as I remembered or is Nosferatu just a really dull clan to play as? I spent a good third of the game levelling up my Obfuscate discipline (makes you invisible. When you look like a Nosferatu, you have to), and now I find out that I really need to get at least Animalism (summons animals) to par, or this isn't going to cut it. This all means that my stats and skills are absolutely tanked, my feats look like I've just started out (although Obfuscate Level 5 does give a bit of a tactical combat advantage... when you get to make use of it).
See, this is what happens when you don't sleep. You litter the internets with whimsical, pointless dross. Get some sleep, Me!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has been having no end of trouble sleeping. Could use a nasty cold, because then I'd be on Claridon QD, which contains high dose of anti-hystamin and a conveniently inoperative non-drowsy formula that makes me sleep like a baby.
It's happened before, you know, a nasty cold in August. See, there I go again...
Well, it wasn't a fad, the little vamps are alive (well, undead) and well. A bit underfed, these days, and dearly needing their exercise, but otherwise alright. They might not have seen the light of day in... well, ever, but they're certainly not gone.
Just this week, I picked up Vampire, the Masquerade: Bloodlines from the bottom of my drawer. I hadn't played it in literally years, but I can scarcely name any othr game I liked as much. Of the many clans I remember having played as a Tremere male (those guys are way greater than bear infantry or bears with rifles, a Malkavian female (that was a laugh) and a Gangrel male (that wasn't as great as I had in mind... plus, by then, it would have been my third consecutive playthough of the game, not counting the halfway playthrough I did before the Tremere male, before I ran into some technical difficulties, e.i., fried RAM). A few days ago I started playing as Nosferatu male (or so the game tells me. I've seen what passes as a Nosferatu female. Could have been a different male. The game designers could have gone a few inches further, not asking for the extra mile, to differentiate the models). I had wanted to do this for a long time. And now that I brought myself to it, I took the chance and installed the unofficial patch 5.5. I digress. My point is, have I become so jaded that this doesn't seem as fun as I remembered or is Nosferatu just a really dull clan to play as? I spent a good third of the game levelling up my Obfuscate discipline (makes you invisible. When you look like a Nosferatu, you have to), and now I find out that I really need to get at least Animalism (summons animals) to par, or this isn't going to cut it. This all means that my stats and skills are absolutely tanked, my feats look like I've just started out (although Obfuscate Level 5 does give a bit of a tactical combat advantage... when you get to make use of it).
See, this is what happens when you don't sleep. You litter the internets with whimsical, pointless dross. Get some sleep, Me!
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has been having no end of trouble sleeping. Could use a nasty cold, because then I'd be on Claridon QD, which contains high dose of anti-hystamin and a conveniently inoperative non-drowsy formula that makes me sleep like a baby.
It's happened before, you know, a nasty cold in August. See, there I go again...
Olympics
This year, my just-over-slight interest in the Olympics has grown a bit, as it does every year.
A small explanation of my previous statement: I've never been much for sports. I derive little to no pleasure from practising them and the halcyon days (isn't this a lovely phrase, "halcyon days"? I really should use it more often) of my nation's Olympic prowess are long gone. However, my father is somewhat of a fan, and the Olympics are something to bond over for us. We really don't get enough of this.
Not long ago Swimming was "our" sport. Now it seems swimming has gone into the background for us, along with everything else, as no sport in particular is on the spotlight or even on the foreground, with live transmitions taking place from 3:00 AM to well into the wee hours of dawn.
So, my highlights are as follows:
Jamaican runner Usain "Lightning" Bolt has been having quite the streak, scoring nothing but first places, with the sole exception of Men's 200m Round 1 - Heat 5, where he came second only to Rondell Sorillo, and setting the World Record for the 100 metres dash.
Diving, my all-time spectacle of choice, provided a lovely entertainment for a not-as-lovely bout of insomnia with the Woman's 10 metres platform semifinal. China's Chen Roulin, who would come to take the gold, won first place over 40 points ahead of second place Mexican diver Paola Espinosa, who would see her spot taken by Canada's Emilie Heymans, retaking the spot she'd lost during the semifinal to a bit of bad luck. Not far behind her, China's Wang Xin, who had managed third place during the semifinal, improved slightly on her own performance. Both British divers, Tonia Couch and Powell Stacie qualified, but managed only 8th and 10th place respectively. Australia's Melissa Wu secured 8th place at the semifinal and went on to finish 6th at the final, performing far better than a very disappointing, albeit also Australian Alexandra Croak.
Still in the water, the Women's 10km Marathon was led most of the time by Brits Kerri-Anne Payne and Cassandra Patten. Surprisingly, right at the home stretch, Russia's Lasira Ilchenko pushed herself in a mighty sprint straight to first place. German swimmer Angela Maurer showed a hearty effort herself, but couldn't outdo the two brits.
Australia's Steve Hooker* set the Olympic Record in Men's pole vault after managing a 5.96 metres leap on his third atempt, well above Russian athlete Evgeny Lukyanenko's best result of 5.85 metres.
I've also been watching some volleyball and beach volleyball, but hardly any of it live. I'd just like to leave a bit of a recommendation to all aspiring Olympic Athletes reading this that if you have a funny name, such as, oh say, Brazillian Volleyball player Fofão (not a typo), have your jersey read either your first or your last name accordingly (I can't tell weather Fofão is a first or last name. In either case, I wouldn't have gone on in front of the world with that printed on my back). Best of luck.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
* ArabianShark would like to remind you all the neither Olympic Medalist Steve Hooker nor his father, Eric Hooker, an athlete as well, appreciate you sniggering at their last name, so kindly show these Hookers the respect and admiration they have earned on the field.
A small explanation of my previous statement: I've never been much for sports. I derive little to no pleasure from practising them and the halcyon days (isn't this a lovely phrase, "halcyon days"? I really should use it more often) of my nation's Olympic prowess are long gone. However, my father is somewhat of a fan, and the Olympics are something to bond over for us. We really don't get enough of this.
Not long ago Swimming was "our" sport. Now it seems swimming has gone into the background for us, along with everything else, as no sport in particular is on the spotlight or even on the foreground, with live transmitions taking place from 3:00 AM to well into the wee hours of dawn.
So, my highlights are as follows:
Jamaican runner Usain "Lightning" Bolt has been having quite the streak, scoring nothing but first places, with the sole exception of Men's 200m Round 1 - Heat 5, where he came second only to Rondell Sorillo, and setting the World Record for the 100 metres dash.
Diving, my all-time spectacle of choice, provided a lovely entertainment for a not-as-lovely bout of insomnia with the Woman's 10 metres platform semifinal. China's Chen Roulin, who would come to take the gold, won first place over 40 points ahead of second place Mexican diver Paola Espinosa, who would see her spot taken by Canada's Emilie Heymans, retaking the spot she'd lost during the semifinal to a bit of bad luck. Not far behind her, China's Wang Xin, who had managed third place during the semifinal, improved slightly on her own performance. Both British divers, Tonia Couch and Powell Stacie qualified, but managed only 8th and 10th place respectively. Australia's Melissa Wu secured 8th place at the semifinal and went on to finish 6th at the final, performing far better than a very disappointing, albeit also Australian Alexandra Croak.
Still in the water, the Women's 10km Marathon was led most of the time by Brits Kerri-Anne Payne and Cassandra Patten. Surprisingly, right at the home stretch, Russia's Lasira Ilchenko pushed herself in a mighty sprint straight to first place. German swimmer Angela Maurer showed a hearty effort herself, but couldn't outdo the two brits.
Australia's Steve Hooker* set the Olympic Record in Men's pole vault after managing a 5.96 metres leap on his third atempt, well above Russian athlete Evgeny Lukyanenko's best result of 5.85 metres.
I've also been watching some volleyball and beach volleyball, but hardly any of it live. I'd just like to leave a bit of a recommendation to all aspiring Olympic Athletes reading this that if you have a funny name, such as, oh say, Brazillian Volleyball player Fofão (not a typo), have your jersey read either your first or your last name accordingly (I can't tell weather Fofão is a first or last name. In either case, I wouldn't have gone on in front of the world with that printed on my back). Best of luck.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
* ArabianShark would like to remind you all the neither Olympic Medalist Steve Hooker nor his father, Eric Hooker, an athlete as well, appreciate you sniggering at their last name, so kindly show these Hookers the respect and admiration they have earned on the field.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
